


You Brought Me To This Party (But You Left Me Here Behind)

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Geralt doesn't deserve Jaskier, Get Geralt Communications Skills 2k20, Getting Together, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Oh Yeah Jaskier Knows How to Fight Did I Mention That, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Slightly Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Song: Her Sweet Kiss (The Witcher), Sort-Of Apology, no beta we die like stregobor will one day alone and unprepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Stop,” Geralt says, and Jaskier looks up. “Don't do it. Leave him alive.”“I need to set an example,” the bard almost snarls. “to make sure they don't come after me again.”“You've set enough of one already. I doubt any of these men will be walking for some time.” Before he can stop himself, he asks, quieter, “What happened to you?”“What happened to me?” Jaskier's eyes flash and he stands up. “This is what you did, Geralt, these are the consequences ofyouractions when you cut me loose.” He wipes the blood from his sword, resheathes it and pulls his cloak more securely around his shoulders. “Now, thank you for your assistance, I suppose, but I hope I never see you again. Go find Roach or Yennefer or whoever it is now, because you made it clear last time that I'm not a worthy travel companion.”Geralt comes across an angry, bitter Jaskier two decades after the mountain. He tries to apologize, but Jaskier doesn't want him to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 675





	1. Witness Me, Old Man

**Author's Note:**

> I know that probably every writer in this fandom has their own Geralt-apologizes-to-Jaskier going on, but here's my two cents on it that no one asked for. Canon Divergent after Episode 6. Destiny is cancelled, Geralt doesn't go to Cintra, Cintra doesn't fall to Nilfgaard and Ciri grows up to be the most amazing queen ever.
> 
> I am going solely off show characterization here. Jaskier might seem a bit OOC, I guess, depending on your perspective, but he is a feral bard anyway and years of heartbreak doesn't usually make anyone happy.
> 
> Fic and chapter titles are all lyrics from the album [The Horror and the Wild](https://theamazingdevil.bandcamp.com/album/the-horror-and-the-wild) by The Amazing Devil. Listen to it. Buy it. Support Joey Batey.
> 
> All potential errors are mine, so if you spot any, could you please let me know? Other than that, enjoy!

Of fucking course there's a bard at this tavern.

He could've camped out in the woods, Geralt muses. It wouldn't have been difficult to find his supper in the wilderness outside of town but no, he decided to spend a few coins and now it's only after he's got Roach taken care of and settled in the corner with a hot meal and some ale that he realizes there's a bard here.

Fine. He can manage. It's not the singers themselves that get on Geralt's nerves, it's just that these days every one of them sings Jaskier's songs, capitalizing on his fame from when he still followed Geralt around. And now that Jaskier is… absent, each lyric reminds Geralt of the mountaintop and the mistake he made that day. A mistake he hasn't yet had the opportunity to apologize for, but he's ~~mostly~~ convinced that Jaskier was better off without him anyway. If he didn't outright say it then Jaskier would've stayed with Geralt until the day he got killed. Humans aren't meant for a Witcher's lifestyle. It would have been inevitable, he reasons every time the pangs of guilt refuse to leave.

The bard, perched by the fire with his lute, begins to sing.

_“The fairer sex, they often call it_

_but her love's as unfair as a crook_

_It steals all my reason, commits every treason_

_of logic, with naught but a look...”_

Hm. It doesn't sound like anything penned by Jaskier, at least not anything Geralt recalls, and he would listen to his verses more attentively than he'll ever admit. No, this is just another song from the perspective of a jilted lover. He tunes the ballad out, focusing on something more worthwhile like his food.

_"… Her current is pulling you closer,_

_a charge in the hot humid night_

_The red sky at dawn is giving a warning_

_'You fool, better stay out of sight'...”_

His voice breaks with emotion and mourning but it's the words that catch Geralt's attention, pulling him back to the music. It's starting to sound a bit familiar. An unbeckoned memory flashes into his mind of Jaskier testing these same lines, on a doomed quest to slay a dragon. So he did write the song. Geralt pushes his plate back, stands, picks up his swords. He's had enough, and it's time to get out of here.

_“… I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting_

_If this is the path I must trudge...”_

The more Geralt listens, the more the bard's tone and the way his voice lilts up on notes are beginning to sound like a voice he knows incredibly well. A voice that pestered and dogged him for years, then haunted his dreams for several more. He should leave.

_“… I welcome my sentence,_ _give to you my penance_ _...”_

But somehow he can't bring himself to now. Not yet. Geralt takes in a long, deep breath. Dammit, if he'd been more attuned to his surroundings when he'd blundered in then he would've noticed the scent. It stands out from the othersnow, a faint trace of something sweet like wildflowers beneath the general human sweat. Dread and hope turning his stomach, as the bard's gaze sweeps over him he meets those sky-blue eyes, seeking to confirm what he already knows is true.

_“…_ _garroter, jury and judge.”_

Jaskier stares back.

*****

It's a testament to his practiced showmanship that Jaskier hardly reacts, no stutter on his lute or waver to his words. Instead, he continues the ballad smoothly.

_“But the story is this, she'll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss, ohhhh...”_

He fades off after a few refrains and finishes to roaring applause from the crowd, who eagerly deposits donations into the pouch at his feet.

“Thank you, thank you, you lovely people,” he bows with a flourish. “You're all too kind, but I'm afraid my night with you has to end here. An urgent matter has come to my attention and I must see to it.” Jaskier sets his lute in its case and picks up the pouch, now heavy with coins. “Don't worry, I'll be in town for a few days yet!” he reassures his audience as he tosses on his cloak, gathers up the rest of his things. With a wink to the barmaid, he deposits a few pieces of copper onto the counter and saunters toward the door.

Geralt nearly calls out, says his name, but as Jaskier passes his confident performer's grin slides and he sends a dark, furtive glare at Geralt instead. While Jaskier makes his exit and disappears, Geralt stands motionless, rent with indecision.

Jaskier doesn't seem to want anything to do with him. But God, he's _so close_ , and Geralt isn't sure what he'll do knowing he had a chance and didn't take it.

He follows Jaskier into the night.

The bard's footsteps echo off the cobblestones as he walks down the quiet street, lute case slung over his back, humming a tune. Geralt trails him far more silently, keeping to the shadows. He's not sure how he wants to confront Jaskier, but it's clear that he's aiming for the inn down the road and once Jaskier's inside then he'll be lost. Geralt has to make a choice, and soon.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, he's saved from doing so. Up ahead, a man steps out of a nearby alley, blocking Jaskier's path.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't the Witcher's bard,” he sneers, and even just by moonlight Geralt can see the rather nasty looking blade in the man's hand. About six more thugs join him, circling Jaskier and holding equally lethal weapons. “We've been waiting for you.” Geralt would probably be out there with his sword already, wreaking havoc if not for the fact that Jaskier's posture seems oddly… relaxed. Calm. The Jaskier Geralt last met might have started talking quickly, nervously, trying to get out of it.

The Jaskier he observes now _laughs_. Long and loudly, and while his laughter used to be warm like the painted colors of dusk it reminds Geralt more of the midday sun glinting off a knife, harsh and sharp and cold.

What happened?

“I'm _not_ his bard,” Jaskier snaps. “and if you'd kept up you'd know that I haven't seen him in years.” _Not quite true as of tonight_.

“So what?” the man shrugs. “You still know things about him, don't ya? And things about Witchers are useful. So put down that fancy lute of yours and come with us, there's a few people who'll pay good money for what's in your pretty little head.”

“Are we really going to do this,” Jaskier sighs. He sounds weary, but there's not a modicum of fear in his tone. “If you value your arms, I'm giving you one chance: Fuck off. _Now_.”

“Mmm, not with that language we won't.” The man gestures to his comrades. “Get 'im, lads.”

The men draw closer and that's when Geralt reveals himself, darting forward to step into the center of the circle. His presence causes them to halt, taken aback while Geralt puts himself between the bard and at least some of these thugs.

“I had this under control, Geralt,” Jaskier forces out through gritted teeth. “I didn't ask for your help.”

“Well I'm here now, so just accept it.” The men around them shake off their momentary surprise and continue to advance, seemingly deciding it worth going up against a Witcher as well as a valuable bard. Geralt braces himself for a fight, and he hears the familiar _shink_ of a blade being pulled from its scabbard but strangely enough it's not his. Jaskier now holds a short, quick sword in his grasp though, and when he shifts into a defensive stance it's with flowing and precise movement. Geralt allows himself one second to process his amazement, at this Jaskier who seems perfectly comfortable wielding a weapon, before drawing his own sword and standing with him back-to-back. Time seems to freeze, each party holding its breath, sizing one another up.

It's Jaskier who initiates the battle, throwing himself at the nearest attacker. Geralt makes a swing at the man closest to him, and so it begins. Slice, parry, hack. One grunting body collapsing onto the ground, then two. When an ax blade whistles toward Jaskier dueling behind him he directs it away, and as Geralt senses a knife coming for his own neck Jaskier cuts it from the man's hands. It's a dance he didn't know he'd learned, fighting with Jaskier at his side, but it's instinct for him to guard the bard's back and even though Jaskier doesn't seem to particularly like Geralt at the moment there's no one he trusts more to cover his.

Finally Geralt has dispatched the last man in his sight, and turns to watch Jaskier deal with the only one left. He fights like a cat, light and graceful on his feet, jabbing with lightning-fast strokes. It's all so _new_ to Geralt, this side of Jaskier. It's truly mesmerizing to watch.

Jaskier knocks his opponent to the ground and crouches with his weight upon him, blade at his throat, face a vicious mask. And as Geralt looks round at the damage they've done, it dawns.

Ever since the Blaviken slaughter, Geralt's been careful not to murder without extreme cause within cities and villages, lest he add more perceived red to his ledger. But although Jaskier's victims are breathing (barely), as he studies the cuts it's evident he didn't care if he killed or not.

“Stop,” Geralt says, and Jaskier looks up. “Don't do it. Leave him alive.”

“I need to set an example, Geralt,” the bard almost snarls. “to make sure they don't come after me again.”

“You've set enough of one already. I doubt any of these men will be walking for some time.” Before he can stop himself, he asks, quieter, “What happened to you?”

“What happened to _me_?” Jaskier's eyes flash and he stands up, kicking the man away angrily. “This is what you did, Geralt, these are the consequences of _your_ actions when you cut me loose on that mountain.” He wipes the blood from his sword, resheathes it and pulls his cloak more securely around his shoulders. “Now, thank you for your assistance, I suppose, but I hope I never see you again. Go find Roach or Yennefer or whoever it is now, because you made it clear last time that I'm not a worthy travel companion.” His words are biting and it unnerves Geralt to the bone.

“Yennefer and I are gone,” is the first thing that comes to mind.

“Good to know it's not just me, you do that to everyone you meet,” Jaskier scoffs bitterly, turning to leave.

“Wait.” Geralt can't watch Jaskier walk out of his life again without at least attempting what he's been meaning to do since he blamed all his shit on the bard, and then apparently he turned him to _this_ , whatever it is. “Can we… talk? Somewhere? I promise,” Geralt opens his hands in a placating manner, “I _will_ leave and you never have to see me another day in your life, if you wish; just give me one chance. Tell me- tell me how you got here, have at me all you want, but listen to me in return. That's all I ask. Please,” he finishes, and _p_ _lease_ , Geralt adds again silently, bowing his head. He doesn't beg, but he needs to apologize. He needs to understand.

Jaskier considers his offer, scrutinizing him for what seems to be an eternity.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Thank Melitele I saved some wine in my room, I think I'm going to be needing it.”


	2. Oh, How Unreasonable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, it's the part we've all been waiting for: Angst™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooo boy this was some heavier emotional stuff to get out. Please tell me how it was if you manage to get through this mess, I'm pretty nervous about it. Otherwise, happy reading!

Geralt feels like a small child at school waiting to give a presentation as he watches Jaskier deposit his belongings around the modest inn room. His lute goes on the table in a position of honor as always. His cloak on the chair. When Jaskier takes off his sword, what alarms Geralt is that he slides it just under the bed within easy reach, like he does at night. When he opens his travelling bag he sets out a leather jerkin along with his clothes for the next day, armor light enough to wear under his doublet. Geralt has so many questions. He's not entirely sure he wants to hear the answers. This isn't the carefree, smiling bard who used to walk endless miles beside him.

“Wine?” Jaskier asks him, pouring it out of a carafe. Geralt shakes his head. As much as he would appreciate the drink, he figures a more sober outlook in this situation is better. “Suit yourself.” The bard takes a seat by the table, letting Geralt stand before him. “Well then, go on. What did you want to say to me?”

Here's the sad reality: unlike Jaskier, who can paint pictures with elegant prose, Geralt is terrible with words. It's easier to communicate in short sentences and cryptic sounds, leave people to figure out his meanings. He must be direct here, though, and he doesn't know how.

“… how have you been, Jaskier?” is the weak phrase that comes out. The bard takes a lengthy sip of wine as if in answer.

“You have no idea how to do this,” Jaskier shakes his head pityingly. “I didn't think you were truly this emotionally constipated, but it seems I have been mistaken. Let me give you a starting point. 'How have you been', ha.” He sets his cup down. “Let me ask you something: how long has it been since we last saw each other?”

“Erm...” Time is all relative to Geralt, he's walked this Continent for over a century and at some point the years, names, faces and places all start to blur together.

“It's been twenty years.” Jaskier pauses. “Oh, you can't even understand, you Witchers with your stupid lifespans. Geralt, I'm sixty-one. I should have grey hair and lines around my eyes. A family. Instead I look like _this_ ,” he gestures at himself, “like I'm still eighteen, young as the day I first met you.” Ah. There is something wrong with that, isn't there? Jaskier just always looked like… Jaskier whenever Geralt came across him, he's seen the same face in the mirror for decades himself so it didn't seem to be a huge matter.

“You're… not aging?” Geralt says slowly.

“I don't know why. The best I can figure is that when I wrote that damn song after Filavandrel, it spread all over the Continent and made you a legend as well as me, the bard unfortunate enough to write it. That or some of your mutant-y energy rubbed off on me when we were travelling.” _That's not possible._ _I think_. “Either way, this is where I am. I've noticed I rarely get sick so I think the only way to die is by physical harm. I'm like you, now.” Geralt never checked up on Jaskier's whereabouts or well-being. He wanted to make things right, but he also thought that they should stay apart for the bard's sake.

“Twenty years, Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “As soon as you cast me aside, people noticed. They knew me as _your_ bard for over two decades, and when I wasn't with you any longer they came after me. People will torture and bleed and kill to know your secrets.” Geralt feels sick. How much has Jaskier suffered by associating with a Witcher? He'd thought he was safer without him, but all of his presumptions are being stepped on tonight.

“I got ahold of a sword, learned to fight and defend myself. I'm rather good at it.” Jaskier looks to the sword beneath his bed. “And I know, you've seen me, I've had to leave quite a bloody trail behind at times but they are _relentless_. And cowards. A Witcher they won't dare to attack apart from perhaps those idiots on the street, but a bard without a troupe? He's free game. I've been forced to do my best to… discourage their efforts but it's never for long. I can't settle down, can't stay anywhere for more than a week at most.”

“You could have found me,” Geralt says automatically. “I would have protected you.” _No matter what,_ he realizes. His anger at that time has nothing on the worry he feels for the bard now.

“You made it abundantly clear you didn't want me, so what was I supposed to do?” Jaskier very nearly shouts, standing up. “What was I supposed to make of that? You made me immortal, Geralt, you destroyed any chance I had of a normal life, and yet I'm still here. I’m still running, still never telling anyone anything about you, still singing songs about your heroics because… because...” he slumps, seemingly exhausted from his outburst.

 _If this is the path I must trudge,_ _I welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, garroter, jury and judge._ Geralt remembers the lines of the ballad.

“I'm sorry...” he tries. _I'm weak, my_ love _, and I am wanting._

Oh. _Oh._

Geralt has really, truly fucked up more than he thought.

I'm sorry for everything I've done to you, I'm sorry for throwing you away, sorry for breaking your heart and never knowing I did until now, he thinks, rushes, wants to say but Jaskier cuts him off, walking up and pushing him back.

“Don't you dare apologize.” His eyes are like cold blue flame. “I am furious at you, Geralt. You have wronged me and I have every right to send you out this door and never see your beautiful face until we're both dead. But I don't want you to apologize. I need to come to terms with this on my own, and if you tell me you're sorry I will forgive you, instantly and without a second thought, and- and I cannot afford to be so blind again.” He falters.

“Why would you forgive me at all?” Geralt asks him.

He already knows the answer, and instead he repaid Jaskier by throwing away his loyalty and everything he'd given Geralt. His reputation, his company, his friendship, leaving him desperate and devastated and longing. Tossed it all without ever considering what he meant to Jaskier. What he’s realizing Jaskier means to him.

“You _are_ a worthy travel companion,” Geralt says simply. “And if life could give me one blessing now-” Jaskier shoves him with more force, so his back hits the wall and he can see the pain in the bard's eyes.

“Don't,” he hisses.

“- It would be for you to be at my side again,” he breathes.

“Geralt- no, no, don't do this to me.” The bard has his hands in Geralt's collar now. Words can't convince Jaskier any further, he won't let himself accept it.

Geralt’s actions have always spoke more than his words. So he leans down and kisses Jaskier instead. /p>

*****

When he wakes up, he half expects Jaskier to be gone.

Instead, the morning sun is high in the sky outside the window and the bard is snoring softly beside Geralt, hair a mess, blanket pulled up just over his hips. They’ve had to share a bed before in the past, out of necessity and shortage of coin but this is feels like a new sight, somehow.

There’s a scar on Jaskier’s side, a neat white line about three inches long. Obviously from a blade, and a sharp one at that. Geralt traces his fingers over the mark, wondering who did this to the bard when he left him to wander alone. Jaskier startles awake at the motion.

“Hmm,” he yawns sleepily, rolling over. “What are you doing?”

“Where did this come from?”

“Some fourth-rate thug in Vizima,” he says in a tone almost too casual for Geralt, reminding him that danger like this has become Jaskier’s everyday life. “It was years ago.”

“Did you kill him?” Geralt asks hesitantly.

“No, the alderman hung him in the square when he found out he’d attacked the winner of the annual bardic festival.” He’s relieved to hear that, at least, though he’d really prefer that the bard wasn’t hurt at all.

“Listen,” his hand reaches up to cup Jaskier’s jaw. “I know you can handle yourself, and you don’t need my protection, but I _do_ miss having you around. Take all the time you want, forgive me when you’re ready. But if you would join me on the road, if I could join _you_ on the road, allow me an opportunity to prove myself to you this time...” Geralt kisses the bard softly. “I would like that.”

He guesses that Jaskier moving to kiss him again is as good as any answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Fucking does not necessarily mean forgiveness.** It can be long or short, but forgiveness is a process with potential ups-and-downs I'm afraid I don't have the current emotional strength to write.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean... I hope that fic made sense. I just really love the idea of fighting!Jaskier and I've had my own apology headcanons going on for a while, so naturally I decided three a.m. was the perfect time to write all of this down.
> 
> If you liked this fic, then comments, kudos and constructive criticism are welcome. Thanks for reading!


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